Those Strange and Stubborn Wheels
It was a shame to make them wait so long.
They had been at it for ages;
The crop-dusting, the vaccuum cleaners,
the tense smiles,
Laughter made them fly.
Though it was never enough and sometimes
shameful in polite circles.
Crying would often give way to great freedom,
That monk-like freedom, provided by a walk-in bedroom closet.
Unlike anger with its tauting of the muscles
choking all thought.
And then we arrived
With the sound of an odd-melodied bird
Arriving to ourselves in new gladness,
Stopping the pushing of those strange and stubborn wheels:
The wheels of desire, the wheels of tomorrow, the wheels of doubt.
Those strange and stubborn wheels
Will let us walk away.
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